


Stupid Love

by leveragehunters (Monkeygreen)



Series: Show Me Your Teeth [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Artist Steve Rogers, Fluff, Light-Hearted, M/M, Minor Violence, Misunderstandings, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Romantic Fluff, Self-Indulgent, Vampire Bucky Barnes, like just all the cliches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:15:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27665939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Monkeygreen/pseuds/leveragehunters
Summary: An old friend comes to town, Steve's patience is tested, and Bucky gets a hell of a surprise.Also: Steve and Bucky are stupidly in love.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Series: Show Me Your Teeth [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2022944
Comments: 50
Kudos: 562





	Stupid Love

**Author's Note:**

> In the immortal words of Granny Weatherwax, I ate'nt dead. Still here, still writing! Just been bouncing off everything lately, so the good news is my collection of WiPs is substantial (is that good news? Let's say it is). But I wasn't going to miss my tradition of posting something completely self-indulgent on my birthday, so I dragged this one across the finish line (thank you, Alby!). And hey, it's a sequel to another birthday fic! That's a first. 
> 
> I hope everyone is well and safe, and that life's being as kind to you as it can possibly be.
> 
> Title from the Lady Gaga song of the same name.

* * *

He was easy to find.

That wasn't a credit to her skills; he simply wasn't trying to hide. But then, he didn't know she was tracking him.

She'd tracked rumours first, run them to ground and torn them open to expose the still-beating heart of their truth, then with truth in hand she'd come to find him.

He'd once been Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes, an improbable gentleman who'd held onto the core of who he'd been even after they'd changed. If he'd lost himself, and the truth she'd found at the heart of those rumours said he had, she owed him this. For the man he'd been and the kindnesses he'd shown, she would end the monster he'd finally become.

* * *

Steve shivered a little, pulling his jacket tighter around himself. It wasn't that cold, or it wouldn't have been if he hadn't dressed up to play nice with the suits—or if those suits hadn't been late enough he was getting out of the meeting practically after dark. He scowled at the undeserving sunset. The last light of day had faded, and even hidden by concrete-grey clouds he knew the sun had packed it in.

Normally, sunset was his favourite time of the day. Normally, he was home when it happened, waiting for Bucky and not the bus, not having been kept waiting for a meeting he hadn't much wanted to go to in the first place. But he'd been lured by the promise of money.

"Root of all evil," he muttered under his breath, but it was good-natured. Apart from not being home when Bucky woke, he wasn't actually unhappy. The suits had followed through on their promise. There was a signed contract in his bag with some nice fat zeroes on it. With what he'd already saved, it might be enough to put a down payment on a place of their own. Sure, it'd only be his name on the deed, but it would still be theirs. They could build a room for Bucky, no more having to count on a modified utility closet to keep him safe. And sure, Bucky said he was completely insensible during the day, but Steve would still feel better if he had more room.

A bump and a surprised, "Oh!," knocked him out of his daydream. He looked down to see a small redheaded woman standing at his shoulder, looking embarrassed.

"Sorry," she said. "I wasn't watching where I was going."

"No problem," Steve replied easily. "In fact, I should thank you. Probably would have missed my bus if you hadn't woken me up."

"Now you're being nice." She tossed her short hair and smiled, gazing up at him from under her lashes. "And I feel doubly bad. Triply bad." Her voice went soft, coaxing. "Let me make it up to you? There's a bar just around the corner."

It was so unexpected, Steve blinked in surprise. "No thanks. Like I said, I'm waiting for my bus."

"Are you sure?" she asked, shifting closer, almost close enough to touch, the light of the bus stop reflecting off her pale skin. 

"No thanks," he repeated firmly, stepping backwards. "I have to get home."

"You _have_ to?"

"That's right." He took another step back. "I have to."

In the unlikeliest of public transit blessings, his bus arrived precisely on time. Steve skirted around her and hopped on, tapping his card and saying, "Hey," to the driver. She nodded back and when the redhead didn't follow, she shut the doors.

Steve grabbed a seat near the back doors and breathed a sigh of relief. It had been a long time since he'd had to deal with random people hitting on him. Almost never since Bucky—the last project he'd worked on, the project manager had told him she'd assumed he was married. _You just give off that vibe,_ she'd told him. Steve had discovered he was fine with that.

As the bus pulled away, Steve glanced back. The redhead was gone. Maybe she hadn't been hitting on him at all. Given the suddenness and way she'd bumped into him, it was more likely he'd been destined for YouTube than a date if he'd said yes.

Not that he'd been tempted. He was a one-man man.

As the bus wove through the streets Steve drifted back into his daydream. There were no picket fences, no emerald-grassed yard, no apple pie, just somewhere that belonged to them both, somewhere Bucky would always be safe.

* * *

Waking was always the same, the world blazing back into his awareness as his senses stirred. Bucky didn't move, making sure of his surroundings first: running his fingers down the wall, pressing his bare feet against the door of the repurposed closet, breathing in the scent of Steve that permeated the air.

They told him he was where he belonged.

No heartbeat, though. He was alone in the apartment. Not common, but nothing to worry about. He stood, crouching to avoid hitting his head on the low ceiling, opened the door, and stepped out into the hallway to stretch.

Not too much later, Steve came home. Bucky had been tracking his heartbeat from a block away as he sat on the couch, reading the news on Steve's tablet. "How was your day, dear?" he asked without looking up as Steve shut the front door.

"I labour away in the salt mines and there's not even a hot meal on the table when I get home?" Steve dropped his bag on the floor and himself on the couch to rest his chin on Bucky's shoulder. "Why do I keep you around again?"

With a grin, Bucky set the tablet down, turned, and pulled him into a searing kiss, Steve's gasp of pleased surprise puffing against his lips before he returned the kiss. When they finally pulled apart, Steve curled his fingers in Bucky's open shirt.

"That a good enough reason?" Bucky asked.

"Hmm." Steve's eyes were gleaming. "It might be."

Bucky ran his fingers through Steve's short hair, fluffing it up, then slowly trailed them down, tracing a line down his cheek, his throat, then pressed a feather-light kiss against his mouth. "How about that?"

"I think that'll do it," Steve said softly. "Hey, Buck."

Bucky smiled. "Hey, Steve."

Steve stretched, tilting his head back to show the long column of his throat. "Hungry?"

He hadn't been. He was now. He could hear the blood in Steve's veins, the arousal-quick beat of his heart. From the smile Steve was giving him, he knew it.

What had once been a near-impossible dilemma had become simple. Steve fed him because Steve loved him. Because Steve loved him, he literally shared his life. Bucky fed from him because Bucky loved him, because it didn't harm Steve. It was something they shared and something Bucky would never take for granted. Steve wasn't a meal, however many jokes he made about it; Steve was a gift.

Steve never let Bucky mask it, so sometimes it still hurt, but they'd gotten good at it. A little bite, razor sharp fangs sliding through Steve's skin, and the hot rush of Steve's life on his tongue...

He swallowed hard.

Steve lifted an eyebrow at him, barely concealing his smirk, and Bucky pounced, pushing him down on the couch as Steve laughed and wrapped his arms around him. Bucky slid his hands under Steve's shirt, pushing it up, leaned down to nip at exposed skin and caught a whiff of…something.

It was familiar and not. He froze, instincts roaring as the world spun away in a wash of red.

Steve's hand on his cheek snapped him out of it.

"Bucky?" Steve moved his hand to squeeze the back of his neck. "What happened?"

"I don't know." Steve's shirt was torn, Bucky's fingers had shredded the front. He pulled his hands away. "There was something…"

"Your teeth are out."

He sat up, still straddling Steve's hips. His fangs were out, and not in a good way. Steve was watching closely, concern in his eyes, but no fear. Steve was never afraid. His steadiness settled him and he felt them retract. "Sorry."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Don't be sorry, tell me what happened."

"I've got no idea."

Steve searched his face, then pulled him down and kissed him. "It's probably 'cause you've been cooped up inside all day and I wasn't here when you woke up. Let me get changed," he said, with a rueful look at his former shirt, "and we can go out, get you some fresh air."

"I'm not a _dog_ ," Bucky grumbled. "I don't need to go for a walk."

Steve's smile was gentle. "Not saying you are, but I know you. There's no way you're going to have a bite after that."

It was Bucky's turn to roll his eyes, but Steve wasn't wrong.

"We'll go out. I'll grab something to eat, and when we get back," Steve waggled his eyebrows so ridiculously Bucky had to laugh, "it'll be your turn."

"I love you," he said, helpless not to as Steve half-shoved him off the couch.

Steve stood up, then leaned down to kiss the top of his head. Bucky felt him smile. "Love you, too."

* * *

The night was clear, the barely there breeze crisp, wispy clouds drifting across the sliver of moon. As they walked through the park, Steve's breath curled in the air like dragon smoke. Bucky watched it, fascinated, fingers tangled with Steve's.

Steve had been right, he did feel better out here, but he was still a little off-balance. Something not sitting right. He knew this park, knew their whole neighbourhood, and something was slightly off kilter.

He just didn't know what.

His steps slowed and he tilted his head, stretching his senses as far as they'd go. Heartbeats, human and not. The scent of the city. Something…

He stopped. There it was. That edge of the familiar but he couldn’t quite—

"Bucky?" Steve's soft voice interrupted him. His heartbeat was slow and steady, but he was frowning. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know." He'd let go of Steve's hand, was standing beside him with his hands curled into fists, could feel the tips of his fangs pressing down. He shook his head. "Probably nothing. Must be getting paranoid in my old age."

"Oh, sure, you're ancient," Steve teased.

Bucky looked at him in disbelief. "I'm over a hundred!"

"Three whole years over a hundred," Steve replied, sounding unimpressed.

It made him laugh. Steve grinned at him and if Bucky hadn’t already been reaching for him, he might have been too slow.

Too slow to catch the hand that came out of nowhere, grabbing for Steve. Too slow to yank it hard, shifting to throw the body over his shoulder as hard as he could. They twisted like a cat in mid-air to land on their feet about twenty feet away and Bucky spun, shoving Steve back, to find himself facing…

Natasha.

 _She_ was what had been tugging at his instincts, half-familiar, half-recognised. Natasha Romanov, Russian spy, fellow victim of Arnim Zola and his mad plans of vampire soldiers.

She prowled in front of him like an impatient tiger, sizing him up. Bucky pivoted to follow her movements, staying between her and Steve.

Her gaze flicked past him and she spoke to Steve. "I'm sorry. I can't save you, but I'll set you free."

He felt a growl building, because he understood what she meant by free. She meant dead. "You lost your accent," he said, fear and fury rising, but he had to keep a clear head.

"So did you," she replied and launched herself at him.

"Stay back," he barked to Steve as he met her in mid-leap, the Sergeant he'd once been rising to the fore. "Don't run." Not that he thought Steve would ever run. He wasn't sure Steve knew how.

It had been so long since he'd fought, really fought, and maybe he was remembering it wrong, but it didn't used to be this easy. If it'd been this easy, Pierce's goons could never have laid a hand on him. He felt like he was made of air, of fire, and he spun through the night, pulling on the memory of his boxing days—but he'd never been this fast. Not when he'd been alive, not even when he'd been turned.

Natasha was lightning bolt quick as she dodged and dashed and struck, but somehow he was faster.

It was his own surprise that kept him from pushing the advantage; she'd always been faster than him. He slid out of the way of a punch intended to take his head off, ducked and sent her flying as she tried to take him down him with her thighs.

She rebounded off a tree, twisting in the air, and landed in a crouch, showing her fangs. "You're not walking away from this." There was finality in her eyes that said she'd come to end him. "I owe you for the man you used to be."

"I'm sure he'd be real thrilled to see you trying to rip my head off."

"If he could see the monster you've become, he'd thank me."

"Only one of us is a monster here, and it sure as hell's not me."

Her eyes narrowed and he braced himself, only to jump like a startled horse when a handful of gravel bounced off his head. Natasha eeled gracefully out of the way of a second handful, then stared as Steve snapped out, "This is some Twilight, Anne Rice bullshit and I'm not putting up with it. Bucky, I've warned you about this crap and my tolerance has not increased. So both of you, cut it out."

Natasha stared more, looking utterly perplexed. Bucky put his hand over his face. It wasn't quite a facepalm, but it was unmistakably related, and a long silence slunk between them like an embarrassed cat.

It was broken by Natasha saying, conversationally, like she hadn't just been doing her best to end Bucky with a side order of threatening to kill Steve: "So, he's not a thrall, then."

"No," Bucky said, sounding strangled.

"Damn right I'm not," Steve said. "And you're both lucky I didn't have a bucket of water." He stomped forward and Bucky dropped his hand and silently panicked as Steve planted himself between him and Natasha. He didn't snatch Steve out of the way, but he was ready to move if Natasha so much as twitched in his direction.

"Something important you should know," Steve told Natasha, tone as conversational as hers had been, "If you kill Bucky, I will find a way to kill you."

"It's a little late for that," she replied. "Already dead."

"You know what I mean."

Bucky gently closed his hand around Steve's arm and drew him back. Steve let him—Steve couldn't stop him, but Bucky still knew Steve was letting him; he didn't stiffen, didn't try and pull away. He was letting Bucky protect him and Bucky was so damn grateful.

"I do know what you mean," Natasha said, then, sharper: "What I don't know is—"

Bucky caught the approaching heartbeats—two people and a dog—and raised his hand, cutting her off. She stiffened, turning to face down the path, then moved to lean casually against the closest pole, standing in the circle of light. Bucky reached for Steve's hand and made himself smile. Steve opened his mouth to ask but closed it when the people came into view, instead making a comment about the latest blockbuster.

Natasha smiled at the couple, lifting a hand in greeting, and none of them moved until they were out of sight, their heartbeats out of hearing.

Natasha's smile disappeared and she straightened, moving closer, stopping just outside Bucky's reach. "Why are Alexander Pierce and the rest of his ilk convinced he's your thrall? Word's gotten around among the scum like them that you've finally abandoned your 'pathetic, mewling existence _'_." The last was clearly a quote, and Bucky winced. "Which doesn't seem to be the case."

Her eyes were locked on Bucky as she continued: "I believed it. I believed it enough to come here and end you and I would very much like to know," there was threat there, a hint of fang, and Bucky moved in front of Steve, "what's going on."

Of all the possible consequences of what he and Steve had done to save Steve's life, Bucky had never imagined this one. How could he? When he and Natasha and Peggy had gone their separate ways, he'd known he'd never see them again. What they'd been through… If they'd survived, maybe they'd have stayed in touch, sole survivors of part of the war no one else could have understood.

But they hadn't. They'd died. They'd died and been dragged back and Bucky had known, however much they'd fought together to free themselves and destroy the Nazi-knockoffs who'd made them, those new-fledged bonds had died right along with them.

Hadn't they?

"Why are you here?" he asked quietly.

"And why did you pretend to hit on me at the bus stop?" Steve added.

Bucky whipped around to stare at him, suddenly understanding why he'd shredded Steve's shirt, but Natasha was already answering.

"I came here to deal with what I thought you'd become," she told Bucky, barely glancing at Steve, "because the man you used to be would have wanted me to." She studied them, Steve standing so close he was almost leaning on Bucky's back, hand resting on Bucky's hip, Bucky's hand curled around Steve's thigh. The shift in her stance was almost imperceptible, but it was there, threat fading. She almost looked relieved. "If he knew you'd become the kind of monster that could impress Pierce, if he knew you'd taken a thrall, if he knew what that _meant_ , he'd want me to end you and set your thrall free."

"Kill me, you mean," Steve said.

"Yes. And," she added, "if you truly understood what it meant to be a thrall, you'd be grateful."

"Except I'm not one."

"Then why did you keep saying you _had_ to go home?"

"With this waiting for me?" Steve rested his other hand on Bucky's shoulder. "You'd have said the same thing."

Bucky tried to hide his smile since Natasha looked unimpressed—but he didn't try very hard. "Now that you know I'm not…all of that. Are we done?" It was a risk letting her go, knowing what she knew, but she'd called Pierce and his kind scum. She'd come here to end him because she thought he'd become everything Pierce valued. He didn't think she'd go running to tell tales—or be believed if she did. And he wasn't sure he had a choice; faster or not, in a fight to the end he wasn't sure he'd win. He wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Not yet," she said, leaning forward intently. "I want to know how you did it."

"Did what?"

"Convinced him."

"Oh that." Bucky grimaced and Steve pressed his face against Bucky's hair to hide, Bucky was sure, a grin.

"Yes _that_."

"Should we tell her?" Steve asked.

"No," Bucky said at the same time Natasha said, "Yes."

"What can it hurt?" Steve asked. "She already knows it's a lie."

"I don't know, but I bet it can," he muttered. "Fine. We tricked him."

The silence crept back, less embarrassed and more baffled. Natasha's brow furrowed and she paced away to sit on the low wall that bordered the path. "Tricked him." 

"Yup," Steve said. "Tricked them, really, since there were a bunch of Bucky's vampire overlords,—"

Natasha mouthed _Vampire overlords?_ at Bucky, and Bucky shrugged.

"—I pretended to be Bucky's thrall and they believed us."

Steve's simple words didn't capture the terror, the rage, the horror of Steve kneeling at his feet under Pierce's soulless eyes. Words couldn't.

Natasha looked from Bucky to Steve and back. "Are you both very stupid?" she asked, then held up her hand. "No. What I should have said was: you are both very stupid. How did you expect that to work?"

"We practiced," Steve said.

"You practiced." She pinched the bridge of her nose, and it sent him back to being penned up in that dank cell, scared and filthy, the three of them waiting for horrors they hadn’t been able to imagine. Even then, she'd had no tolerance for what she'd called abject stupidity, squeezing the bridge of her nose between two elegant fingers when it all got too much. "You _practiced_ ," she repeated. "James." It was the first time she'd used his name and it sharpened his focus on her. "Are you telling me that you went into a room with Alexander Pierce and his cronies, and playacted that he," she pointed at Steve, "was your thrall and they _believed you_."

When she said it like that, it sounded even crazier—and more desperate—than it had been. "Yes."

"No, you didn't."

"That's what happened."

"No, it's not. They would have known. A vampire and their thrall together…that can't be playacted. It can't be pretended." She had tensed again, poised. "How many people are you killing?"

"What? None!"

"The only way that could have worked was if you _made_ them believe you. All of them. The kind of power that would take…" She shook her head. "I don't even know how many lives you'd need to get the power you'd need to manipulate their minds. Enough to make you the monster I came here to stop."

"Okay, no." Steve made a timeout gesture and moved to stand beside Bucky. "Sliding into bullshit territory again. Bucky doesn't kill anyone. I'm an all you can eat buffet, he's my only guest, and I'm very much alive."

"Steve," Bucky groaned. "Don't say it like that."

"You don't want your friends to know you eat me?" Steve asked innocently, but there was a smirk lurking behind his eyes.

It had the desired effect. Bucky had to hold back laughter. "I don't think you can call us friends, but fine, you win."

"Thank you," he said smugly. To Natasha he said, "The only person Bucky eats is me. There's no killing. Ever."

"That you know of," she replied.

Steve rolled his eyes. "Let's move on. You're saying Bucky put the whammy on all of them? Without knowing he did it?"

"Not the word I'd use," she said, "but yes. There's no other explanation for why they believed you. For why they still believe you."

"Okay," Steve said, not quite doubtfully. "And if he hadn't, we'd have died?"

"Bucky would have died. You're strong, handsome," she ran her eyes over him like a butcher appraising a lamb, "I'd almost call you beautiful. I'm sure you taste incredible. You would have left there as someone's thrall and you would have wished you'd died." 

It was impossible to doubt her. Bucky felt Steve's heartbeat pick up. If he'd still had one, it would've been racing. Bucky pulled Steve against his side in a grip like steel. "I'm going to need to freak out about that later," Bucky told him.

"Think I'll join you," Steve said, but he turned his head, breathing against Bucky's skin, warm and alive, and Bucky calmed, felt Steve's heartbeat slow.

Natasha frowned at them, ignoring or not caring about their little moment. "Tonight, when I saw you together," she said slowly, "when I was tracking you, I still believed it. And I've seen enough vampires with their thralls to know better."

"I remember this cryptic spy stuff from before we died," Bucky said. "I'm glad to see you held onto it, I know how much you liked it, but can you give me a break and just tell me what you're talking about?"

The briefest smile flashed across her face. "It means you're putting out an…influence. Automatically. I believed he was your thrall until you decided it was okay for me not to. You're protecting him, even when you don't know you're doing it."

He let that sink it, not sure what to do with it, then glanced at Steve, to gauge his reaction. Steve's eyes blazed with warmth, love, something that might have been awe and Bucky suddenly remembered how it felt to stand beneath a sunlit sky. Without turning away, he told Natasha, "I'm not saying where the power came from. It's not from killing, but that's all I'm telling you. Believe me or don't."

After a moment, she said, "I think I see. Alright. And I'll keep your secret," she said, paused, then added, "Believe me or don't," but it wasn't unkind.

Bucky believed her. "Hey," he said as she turned to leave, because he needed to know. "What you said before. Why have you seen so many thralls?"

"Because some things are too obscene to be allowed to continue." Her smile had fangs. "Goodbye, Bucky. I'm…pleased you weren't a monster."

"Thanks for being willing to take me out if I was."

She inclined her head, then turned and walked away. Bucky watched her until she faded into the darkness, then slumped into Steve's arms, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Vampire bullshit is exhausting," Steve said. "You notice they never mention that in any of the movies?"

The corner of Bucky's mouth curled. "You can write them a letter."

"A sternly worded email," Steve agreed, kissing Bucky's temple. "Let's go home."

* * *

The apartment looked the same when they got home.

Steve didn't know why he was expecting it to look different. He wasn't, really, he guessed, but he felt like there'd been some fundamental shift in the world. The least the world could have done was shift the couch a couple of feet in acknowledgement.

Oh right, he never got food. That explained it. He went into the kitchen to rummage through the leftovers, since low blood sugar wasn't good for either of them. He came up with yesterday's noodles and snagged a fork out of the dish drainer.

"Sit on the balcony?" he suggested, and Bucky nodded, wordlessly following him out.

Steve made himself comfortable leaning against Bucky's chest once Bucky sat down and in between bites of cold noodles said, "That was Red, wasn't it?"

Bucky slipped both arms around his waist. "Yeah."

"Ignoring everything else, is it strange that I think it's…nice that she cared enough to stop you if you had become a," he set the container down so he could make finger quotes around, "'monster'?"

He felt Bucky's chest shake with silent laughter. "A little, maybe. But also not. It's good there's someone who would."

He picked up his noodles. "Not that it matters. You wouldn’t."

"No?"

"No." He said it with all the certainty in his heart, which was enough certainty to move mountains, took a bite of noodles, swallowed, and added, "You're going to get a chance to put it to the test, since you're apparently even more powerful than your vampire overlords." He paused, waiting for Bucky's groan, which Bucky dutifully supplied. "And Red, if you messed with her mind without even trying."

Bucky went still the way only a man who was technically dead could. It was like leaning on a statue, no breath, no heartbeat, no pulse, just the solid cool arms around his waist. Steve kept eating.

After a minute or so, he stirred, shifting a little and pulling Steve closer. "A gift freely given," he said quietly.

"A gift freely given," Steve agreed. "I don’t think either of us knew how big a gift it was going to be."

Bucky laughed softly. "You got that right. But you're wrong about it being a test. The power comes from you and you'd never keep giving it if I went off the rails."

"I feel like I should say something cheesy about the power of love here. Maybe break into song."

Bucky winced. "Please don’t."

"The power of blood?"

Bucky dropped his forehead to rest on Steve's shoulder.

Steve slurped down the rest of his noodles, put the container to the side, and ran his fingers through Bucky's hair. "I love you," he said seriously.

"I know. I love you, too."

"I need something from you."

"Anything."

Steve poked him. "You shouldn’t promise _anything_. Find out what I want first."

Bucky lifted his head and Steve was caught in his eyes, pale grey and otherworldly under the night sky, a sudden forcible reminder that for all of Steve's laughing dismissal of vampire bullshit, it was what Bucky was. The blood had become just another part of sex, so he rarely saw Bucky as _this_ , as a _vampire_ , with all the power and strength that meant.

He swallowed, entirely involuntary reaction, as Bucky pressed his fingertips lightly against his neck. "Anything, Steve."

Steve drew in a shaky breath as Bucky's hand slipped down to rest on his collarbone, thumb in the hollow of his throat. "Don't ever make me one."

Bucky stroked his skin. "I wouldn't."

"Not even to save my life. I mean it, Bucky."

"It wouldn’t be saving your life. Dead, remember?" He gave Steve a crooked smile. "And I wouldn't. Not to anyone and sure as hell not to you."

"I didn't think so. I just," he ran a hand through his hair, "I needed to make sure you knew."

"I'm with you to the end, Steve, whenever that's gonna be. I'll do whatever I can to make it be as far away as possible, but that's all." Bucky kissed him, soft, gentle, just this side of chaste, like sealing a promise.

Steve gave it back to him, promise for promise, quietly murmuring, "To the end." He knew it sounded like a vow. He didn't much care, since that was how he'd meant it.

Bucky's smile was incandescent. "And turns out between us I've got the power to keep you safe, whoever comes looking."

They sat in comfortable quiet, then Steve snickered.

"What?"

"' _Are you both very stupid?_ '"

"It _was_ a terrible plan."

"It worked. Can't be a terrible plan if it worked."

"Can't be a… _Steve_." Steve grinned unrepentantly and Bucky picked him up and turned him around, pulling him into his lap with Steve straddling his waist. "Unbelievable."

"Completely believable." Steve kissed him, not at all chaste. "Hungry?"

Bucky slowly smiled, a hint of fang peeking out, and Steve scrambled through the window, Bucky close on his heels, and then they were laughing and shoving each other as they raced for the bedroom.


End file.
